


love sick (i need a doctor)

by kiblum



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiblum/pseuds/kiblum
Summary: “Kibum?” Jonghyun repeats, as if he can hardly believe it. “I can't—you work here?” He has the same voice still. The same way of speaking. A little fuller now, a bit stronger, but Kibum supposes that's where years of vocal training get you.It takes Kibum three seconds to rework his face and voice back into impassivity. “That's Doctor Kim to you, Kim-ssi.”(Or, the one wherein Jonghyun walks—figuratively speaking, of course—into the hospital with a twisted ankle and, in Kibum's humble opinion, the intention of ruining his life.)





	

It's a hard day to be an ER physician, thinks Kibum sullenly while his pager beeps on end. Ever since he started working in the Asan Medical Center, Kibum has had too much to do and too little rest. Five minutes into his afternoon break, the first in six hours of nonstop work, and he's already being called in again. 

A job's a job though, and grumbling will get him nowhere. Kibum stands up, stretching, bitching slightly. Fixes his lab coat, his hair.

“What's this?” Kibum asks Taemin, the emergency nurse. 

“Someone who fell on his foot,” Taemin replies. His voice is neutral enough, but there's something in his eyes that's different. Shifty.

Intrigued, Kibum pulls back the privacy curtain around his latest patient. His eyes spot the swollen foot first—and then he hears a voice he hasn't in a long time. 

“Kibum?” Kibum looks up. It is Kim Jonghyun lying on the bed. His first love, Kim Jonghyun. A little older around the eyes, with more prominent cheekbones, wider shoulders. Blond and dressed up—due to the promotion of an album, or a single, Kibum would presume—but still the same Kim Jonghyun he once knew. 

“Kibum?” Jonghyun repeats, as if he can hardly believe it. “I can't—you work here?” He has the same voice still. The same way of speaking. A little fuller now, a bit stronger, but Kibum supposes that's where years of vocal training get you.

It takes Kibum three seconds to rework his face and voice back into impassivity. “That's Doctor Kim to you, Kim-ssi,” he says, and it is a struggle to keep his voice steady. “Nurse Lee says you fell on your foot. When and how did it happen? And from what height?”

Jonghyun answers, “An hour ago. I fell off a harness in my concert performance.” He pauses to think. “I'm not too sure about the height; I'd guess around a meter and a half?”

“I see,” says Kibum. “From that height, it's possible that you sprained and/or fractured your ankle. I'll have to assess it first.” 

Jonghyun winces. “Will that hurt?”

“It depends,” Kibum says. “I'll have a look at it now.”

Kibum sits, inspecting Jonghyun's ankle with careful eyes and hands. A few minutes pass, Kibum bending and touching Jonghyun's ankle and foot in a series of tests that leave the injured man white-knuckled and clenched-teeth. 

When Kibum draws back, Jonghyun asks, “How is it? I'll be able to walk again, won't I?” 

“Of course you will, this is just a Grade 2 ankle sprain,” Kibum begins, matter–of–fact. “It appears that you partially tore your lateral collateral ligaments when you fell and twisted your ankle too far inside. A sprain like this'll have you walking around in crutches for a while, but with proper immobilization and therapy, you'll heal just fine.

“Your foot, however, is another thing,” he continues. “I suspect you broke some bones here,” Kibum points at the side of Jonghyun's foot, “or here,” he points to where his ankle and foot meet. “Since breaks in these bones are harder to detect, we have to get your foot CT scanned first to see exactly where the damage is before we can recommend a treatment.”

Jonghyun mulls that over for a few silent seconds. “But I'll be able to walk and dance again, right?” A small, hopeful smile is on his face. 

Kibum nods. “In around two months' time, yes. You'll have to let the injury heal completely first, or else you'll risk sustaining permanent damage.”

“Two months?” Jonghyun wails, burying his face in his hands. “Oh god, Lee Soo Man-nim is going to kill me.”

“There's nothing we can do about it now, Kim-ssi.” There's little sympathy to be found in Kibum's clinical voice. “Getting injured is difficult, isn't it? Please be careful next time.”

Like a child, Jonghyun pouts and says, “I was being careful, Kibum.” Kibum gives him a hard look. “Er, Doctor Kim.”

“Thank you,” is Kibum's pointed reply. “I'll refer you to Doctor Park, our orthopedics specialist, due to the…”—he pauses to find the right word—“…rather sensitive nature of your work. Rest assured that she will assist you in your recovery. In the meantime though, Nurse Lee,” Kibum addresses the emergency nurse, who'd been watching them with an expression usually reserved for tennis matches while filling in Jonghyun's files. “Please assist Kim-ssi here in getting a CT scan.”

“Yes, Doctor Kim. I'll do just that,” Taemin answers. “But first,” he says, pulling out a pen and a pad of paper, “Hyung, can I get your autograph?”

  


* * *

  


Kibum leaves the hospital wrung out and still unnerved from his encounter with Jonghyun. On an average day, being an emergency physician is hard enough, but running into an ex from a decade past made things worse. 

When he opens the door to his apartment, Comme des and Garçons, his toy poodles, come bounding up to him, licking at his feet. 

“Hello,” says Kibum, voice tender. “How have you guys been?” They nuzzle against his leg, and trail after him when he heads to the kitchen. The day gets better. 

When he's done with dinner and his nighttime rituals, he settles on his couch with Comme des and Garçons on either side of him. He turns on the television. The first thing Kibum sees is Jonghyun's face. Underneath it, a caption reads: _Singer-songwriter Jonghyun injured in concert mishap._

Kibum rolls his eyes. His dogs, seemingly sensing his distress, look at him beadily. He would know all about it; he was the attending physician when Jonghyun was brought in. Even so, Kibum doesn't change the channel.

  


* * *

  


“So I met my ex the other day,” Kibum says, trying to sound off–hand. It is a Friday night, and he is drinking in Minho's apartment. They're well into their twenties now, so bar hopping isn't vogue anymore. 

Minho smirks. “Which one?”

Kibum replies, “The one I never really got over,” before he can stop himself. The problem with—or sometimes the best part of—drinking is that it kills Kibum's filter and makes it hard for him to keep his mouth shut.

“Shit,” Minho says in sympathy. “That sucks.”

“Doesn't it? He twisted his ankle and broke his lateral talar process, the moron.” Kibum sips some more wine, grimacing. It's the cheap, convenience store kind, because Minho is disappointingly frugal for a top ranked sports physician. “Buy better wine, will you? I'm certain this is what stomach acid tastes like.”

“You do it, you're the guest here,” Minho says. He narrows his eyes. “And what do you mean, he twisted his ankle? You met your ex in the emergency room?”

“Well, yeah.” More wine for Kibum, even if it makes him gag. “Where else?”

“Where else—I assumed you met him at a café or in the mall, or _something,_ like a normal person.” There's a disappointed look in Minho's eyes, and it stings a bit. “Don't tell me this is the first time you've gone out in like, two weeks.”

“Oh come off it, Mango, I go out all the time,” Kibum says, dismissive, knocking back the wine. 

“For work, you stupid workaholic,” replies Minho. “And that nickname stopped being funny the second year of college.”

“Then it's a good thing I have trouble letting go of the past,” Kibum quips, but it isn't as funny because it's half–true. 

“So this ex,” Minho begins. “Who is he, exactly?” 

Kibum scoffs. “He's an idol now, if you can believe that. Kim Jonghyun? I'm sure you've heard of him, he's quite famous.”

Minho nearly spits out his wine. “Are you kidding me? Kibum, you never told me you've dated an idol!”

“He wasn't one when we dated, we were in high school,” argues Kibum. “And besides, it's not really the shit I want to share. If I told you, _Hey Minho, did I ever tell you that midget of an idol broke my heart in high school and it still fucks me up to this day?_ ” He pauses for emphasis. “You would've laughed yourself sick.”

“True, that.” Minho seems to be stifling a snicker. “I'm still laughing today, even.”

Kibum throws a pillow at his face.

  


* * *

  


The thing about Kibum though, is that he's a very contrary man. There's always dissonance between what he thinks and what he does.

That's why he says “You again?” when, one week later, he sees Jonghyun lying on the stretcher. Taemin didn't warn him about this, the little welp, only saying, “I'll let you handle this one, Doctor Kim,” before leaving. What kind of ER nurse does that?

“Me again,” Jonghyun repeats dryly.

Kibum arches a judgmental brow. “I have work to do, you know.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Jonghyun looks incredulous. “I _am_ work!”

“I'd rather not do you,” Kibum replies without missing a beat. “Joking, Kim-ssi. Okay, so what seems to be the problem this time?”

Jonghyun raises his left hand towards Kibum. There's an ugly splotch of pale red and white on the palm. “I burned my left hand,” says Jonghyun, as if that much isn't obvious. 

“What did you do this time? And when did it happen?” Kibum asks. “This can't have come from a performance.”

Jonghyun cocks his head at him, then laughs—a rich, full–bodied sound Kibum won't admit to missing. “Oh, Doctor Kim. I got this when I was baking an hour ago.”

 _Why the hell are you baking, you still have an injury,_ screams Kibum's internal mothering instinct. He forcibly shuts it down. “Right. How exactly?”

“I put an oven mitt on my right hand. But I opened the oven with my right hand and grabbed the baking tray with my left.” Jonghyun tries for a smile, and fails. “I barely managed to save the cookies.”

Because Kibum can't cuss out a patient for being an idiot, he settles for saying, “Kim-ssi, what was it I said about being careful?”

Jonghyun looks at him flatly. “At least I didn't twist my other ankle this time.”

“You burned yourself pretty badly, so my point still stands.” Kibum holds his hand out. “May I see it?”

The skin on Jonghyun's left palm is a shiny mottle of pink and red. Kibum estimates an area of twelve square centimeters, being three centimeters at its widest. There's some blistering, but aspirating those small lesions would only heighten the chance of infection.

“Partial thickness burn,” concludes Kibum, putting Jonghyun's hand back down. “Or you may better know it as second degree burn. It's a burn that involves the dermis and epidermis. It can take two to three weeks to heal, but since you got here this early it's probably sooner than later.

“This burn is minor, but since it's in a sensitive area—your hand—I'll refer you to Doctor Jung, one of the burns specialists here,” Kibum says. “For now, I'll clean the burn, run it under cool water, and dress it.”

Jonghyun blinks. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Doctor Kim.”

Kibum gets to work. He cleans the burn gently, apologizing in reflex when even that makes Jonghyun hiss. He does the running water treatment in twenty minutes with the water at 10°C. After that, he wraps the burn twice—first, in silver-based antibacterial dressing and second, in an occlusive dressing.

“There we go,” Kibum says. “I'll call for someone to accompany you upstairs.”

Jonghyun snaps out of looking at his dressed hand with a sense of wonderment. “Oh, it's alright. My manager's outside.”

He stands up—difficult, given his injury, so Kibum helps him. Jonghyun's hand on his shoulder is impossibly warm. “Thank you, Kibum. I left your cookies with your nurse, by the way.”

Jonghyun disarms Kibum with a smile before he exits, leaving him bewildered and with his heart racing. 

  


* * *

  


“Doctor Kim!” It's Taemin. There's an unsettling grin on his face. “Was that your boyfriend just now? He's quite clumsy for an idol, isn't he?”

“No, Lee, that wasn't my boyfriend,” Kibum replies wearily. “He told me he left something with you; where is it?”

Taemin pulls out a large brown paper bag. “Here. I sampled one. It would've been really good, but it was white chocolate instead of milk.” He sticks his tongue out like a kid. “Who likes white chocolate, anyway?”

“I do,” Kibum answers hoarsely.

Taemin's grin widens to an extent that makes clubbing him upside the head seem justifiable. Kibum holds himself back, but only barely. 

  


* * *

  


Over dinner on another Friday night—this time in his apartment—Kibum shares his emergency room encounter with Minho and his boyfriend Jinki. Because he is an asshole, Minho laughs until he chokes on his rice. Kibum, despite knowing the Heimlich maneuver, does not help.

“Minho, are you alright?” Jinki asks, worried. “Do you need help?”

Kibum snorts, “Don't, Jinki, you'll disembowel him. Minho's fine, he's choked on worse things before.”

Minho's broad shoulders are still shaking with the effort of catching his breath. “Yeah, I'm fine, Jinki. But Kibum, your ex—it's just—” He bursts into laughter again. Kibum gives him the iciest glare he can muster. “He burned himself baking cookies for you! Isn't that romantic?”

“He burned himself because he's an incompetent dickwad, not because he's Casanova reborn.” Kibum spears a cut of samgyeopsal into his mouth as if to prove a point. “And I told him to stop calling me _Kibum_ but he still did it. What a dick.”

Jinki bites his lip in thought. “You're missing the point completely though. What kind of cookies were they? How did they taste?”

“White chocolate macadamia nut,” Kibum replies, morose now. “They're my favorite, and they tasted fantastic, dammit.” He takes his frustration out on the kimchi next, popping the cabbage into his mouth and chewing with vehemence. “I hate him. How does he remember that I liked those things?”

“Kibum.” Minho's voice is startlingly sober. “Maybe you're not the only one still hung up on the past.”

“Yeah right,” huffs Kibum. The way his heartbeat picks up is completely involuntary.

“When'd you tell him about the cookies anyway?” asks Jinki curiously.

Kibum gives it some thought. “Uh, first year of high school?”

“What the hell?” Jinki's eyebrows disappear into his bangs. “Kibum—trust me, something's up.”

“He's probably out to break my heart again, is what's up,” Kibum sighs. “Next time he turns up in the ER, I'm strangling him, Hippocratic Oath be damned.”

Jinki shudders. “Next time he's in the ER,” he mumbles, “please don't do something that'll send him to the morgue instead.”

“How about, let's hope he doesn't turn up in the ER again?” Minho points out, ever the voice of reason. “He's already injured enough as it is.”

Hissing like an angry cat, Kibum says, “I can just _sense_ he's gonna turn up again. That asshole's gonna start shit, I just know it.”

Minho and Jinki share a moment of nonplussed eye contact, before both of them shrug. Kibum can relate. He doesn't know why his life's like this, either. 

  


* * *

  


_Pick Me_ wakes Kibum up too damn early on his day off. He groans, rolling closer to his phone. Only one person would find happiness in setting his own ringtone to something so obnoxious. “What the hell do you want, Minho?”

“Do you know”—and the barely contained excitement in his voice scares Kibum—“that Jonghyun just mentioned you last night on his radio show?”

It is way too early for this. Kibum sits up, his drowsiness having left him.

“Yah. D'you hear what I just said?”

“I heard you, Mango.” Kibum counts to ten in his head. The urge to scream abates marginally. “What the _fuck!_ You know what, I was fucking right.”

“What do you mean, you were right?”

“I knew that—that little midget _dickwad_ would start shit. I told you the last time we had dinner, yeah? And I was right. God, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Um, aren't you being a little dramatic here?” Minho comments. “Calm down, drama queen, he didn't even mention you by name.”

Kibum isn't sure if he feels relief or irritation. Irritation wins out in the end—who the fuck does Jonghyun think he is, mentioning him even indirectly? “If I had a say in things, Jonghyun wouldn't be breathing anywhere within five kilometers of me.” 

Like a true best friend, Minho laughs in the face of Kibum's ire. “Wait, don't calm down. I like how bitchy you get over this.”

“Christ,” Kibum whines, massaging his temples, “you're a dick.” 

“Only to my most precious friend,” Minho informs him cheerily. 

Kibum runs a hand through the mess that is his hair. The only way to get Minho off his back is to ask. So he does. “Okay, I'll bite: exactly what happened?” Thankfully, his voice doesn't show how much he dreads the answer.

“Oh, nothing much,” says Minho casually. “He was talking about his injuries, since someone asked about them. And he launched into some kind of story—I think he did, I was organizing files at the time. And right, he mentioned something like _those injuries brought me to a friend I thought I had lost._ ” He pauses. “Or something like that. Ah, just watch it online, someone's bound to have recorded it.”

“ _Friend?_ ” Kibum feels insulted. “How dare that fucker—he lost the right to call me that a long time ago!”

“You know what, I'm pretty sure he's not allowed to say the word _ex,_ ” Minho reasons, trying to placate Kibum. “He didn't mention you by name, so try to calm down, okay?”

Kibum is still out of breath by the time the call ends.

  


* * *

  


There's a period of calm that lasts until Kibum checks his LinkedIn account out of habit and finds it inundated with messages all pertaining to one man: Jonghyun.

 _I heard you and Jonghyun-oppa have history,_ reads one of them. _Please apologize for breaking his heart._

Another one says, _Jonghyun-oppa looked near tears when he was talking about you. How dare you make him cry!_

Kibum opens a third—it simply says _GO FUCK YOURSELF!_ He has to admit it startles a laugh out of him. 

The joy is fleeting, though. Kibum finds the same thing when he checks his Facebook and Instagram: a flood of bitter and spiteful comments and messages, all on behalf of _Jonghyun-oppa_. The turn of phrase makes him want to vomit. 

And while Kibum's pride is strong enough to withstand the grievances of a bunch of teenagers, there remains the fact that Jonghyun didn't drop his name and his Blingers still managed to find him. It's rather disquieting.

Kibum calls Minho up to share this exciting new development. “Yah, Minho.” His voice is tight. “Are you sure you've told me everything when you called me? Why are a bunch of pubescents going apeshit all over my accounts?”

For once, something that Kibum says actually takes Minho by surprise. “Wait, what?” 

“Check my LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram,” says Kibum. “It's kind of pathetic. There's a fuckton of comments about Jonghyun.”

Over the line, he can hear Minho clicking away on his laptop. “Oh my god. What the hell's wrong with your ex's fanbase?”

“They must be the same shade of asshole as my ex himself,” Kibum mutters humorlessly. “God, how do I clean this up? If I say anything, his Blingers will just willfully misinterpret it. If I don't, they'll continue shitting all over my reputation. Ugh, fuck. I hate Jonghyun.”

“You hate Jonghyun's fans,” corrects Minho.

There's a beat of silence. “You're right,” Kibum acquiesces. “I hate Jonghyun and his fans. Thanks, Minho.”

“You know that's not what I meant,” Minho says flatly. “And why do I get the feeling you still haven't watched the video?”

“I haven't. And I won't,” says Kibum adamantly.

Minho sighs, long–suffering. “I'll send you the link.” 

  


* * *

  


After Minho's wheedling and some begging on Jinki's part _(Kibum, please please please just watch it, I can't sleep because Minho's still bitching about how stubborn you are)_ , Kibum relents, clicking the link to the video. 

It's a radio show, is his first thought after he clicks the link. And there's Jonghyun, talking and laughing in that rich and beautiful voice of his. Looking stupidly good in an oversized sweater, Kibum is loath to admit. 

Jonghyun giggles about a message some listener had sent in—and Kibum despises the way it still makes his heart skip a beat. 

The show continues in that vein for about fifteen minutes, and just when Kibum's about to message Minho _so when tf is he going to talk about me,_ a caller asks him about his injuries. 

“Ah, I knew someone would ask about them,” Jonghyun says. “I have three injuries right now. The first two—a sprained ankle and a broken foot bone—I got because I fell off a harness in my most recent concert. I fell really badly on my foot.” He sighs. “Those hurt a lot, and because of them I can't do anything physically demanding for two months.

“The second one's a partial thickness burn—a second degree burn, in other words. It's on my left hand. I don't want to talk about how I got it, because it was stupid.” Jonghyun laughs self–deprecatingly. “No, really. Trust me on this one. My dear listeners, you'd lose respect for me if you heard what happened, and I don't want that happening now, do I?”

Jonghyun reclines in his chair. That's his thinking pose, Kibum remembers. He must've been choosing his words carefully then.

“But you guys know what, a lot of good actually came out of these,” continues Jonghyun. “I know, you must be thinking, _How can a lot of good come from three injuries?_ Well, let me tell you a story. I'll make it quick, so you don't get bored. I once had a friend—a very special one—and we were thick as thieves for most of our youth. But then my mother and I had to move: money was tight and there was a miraculously cheap listing near SM's training center in Apgujeong-dong. It was a Thursday when we moved away. And just like that, I disappeared from my friend's life”—Jonghyun's voice cracks like glass—“and that friend from mine.”

Jonghyun's next words are decidedly emphatic, but Kibum almost doesn't hear them over the ringing in his ears. “But everything worked out in the end, because these injuries were actually blessings in disguise. Thanks to them, I found my friend.” There's a smile on Jonghyun's face, at odds with his eyes, which are shining with unshed tears. “I found my friend, whom I thought I'd lost.” 

Jonghyun wipes his eyes with the end of his sweater. “So don't get too down when something bad happens to you. Maybe they're blessings in disguise you know? Ah—I apologize if my story was too depressing for you, dear listeners.” He clears his throat. “Let me play something lively now…”

Overwhelmed, Kibum closes the video. There are a million thoughts bouncing around in his head, and they're all clamoring for his attention. _Why didn't he ever tell me? Why didn't he ever answer my calls?_

That night, Kibum dreams of brown eyes, a shy smile, and a sweet voice singing. Waking up in the morning is nothing short of painful.

  


* * *

  


In spite of last night's revelation, life, for Kibum, goes on as it usually does. Nothing changes. There's still a lot of people to attend to. Kibum diagnoses a woman with a severe peptic ulcer. Stabilizes the condition of a child going delirious with a 41°C fever. Splints a man's broken forearm. Helps an asthmatic breathe again. It's a normal day in the life of an ER physician in Seoul's largest hospital. 

Kibum loves his job because it never fails to provide him perspective. There are always larger and more immediate concerns to worry about than his own. He goes through the day not even thinking of Jonghyun's apparent feelings for him. 

At 5:00pm, Kibum's shift ends. He bids a polite farewell to the staff, to a curiously grinning Taemin. Swings by his office to grab his things before heading home. 

When he exits through one of the hospital's side gates, he finds Jonghyun seated on a waiting bench, his blond hair the only bright spot in his all-black outfit. 

Jonghyun speaks first, mostly because Kibum's mouth is occupied with the business of hanging open. “Sit with me?”

Deliberately being difficult, Kibum says, “Why should I?”

“Isn't it high time we talked about it—about everything?” asks Jonghyun, an imploring undercurrent in his voice. 

“I don't care,” Kibum responds, refusing to meet the other man's eyes.

Jonghyun gives him a pained look. “Ten minutes.”

Kibum isn't making this any easier for him, though. “Five,” he responds coldly. 

“Seven,” pleads Jonghyun. “Please, Kibum.”

Kibum checks his watch. “It's twenty minutes past five. Whatever it is you have to say, I'm leaving at 5:27.” 

He sits a foot away from Jonghyun. “Well?” he says when Jonghyun remains silent. “The clock's ticking away.”

“Right,” says Jonghyun. “First, I'm sorry for mentioning you on Blue Night last night. I didn't know my fans would react that way. To be honest, I don't even know how the hell they found you online.”

Kibum says, “Your fanbase has a cultlike devotion to you, you know.” 

“I do,” Jonghyun admits, cringing. “I'll clean up the mess I made, talk to the lawyers in SM, so you don't have to worry.”

“Good,” says Kibum. “You have five minutes, thirty seconds—anything else?”

“I know this apology is ten years overdue but,” starts Jonghyun, his voice gaining strength, “I'm sorry for never picking up, never returning your calls.”

“Never telling me you were going to move in the first place, not until the truck was there already,” Kibum adds, sounding sore. 

Jonghyun's eyes screw shut. “That, too. I don't know why, or how, but I somehow got it in my head that if I told you, you'd hate me. You'd judge me for having to move because I never was as well–off as you were before.”

“You're an idiot,” remarks Kibum with clenched fists. “Why did you think I was some kind of hoity–toity pretentious-ass rich kid? You know damn well I could never judge you for that.”

“I know,” Jonghyun groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was just a stupid fucking teenager. I let my anxiety and insecurity get the better of me. I'm sorry, Kibum. I know my apology counts for nothing now, but god. Not a day passes by that I don't regret what I did.” 

The two of them sit in a strained silence—Jonghyun resolutely looking down, Kibum with his expression unreadable—until the latter speaks again. “Jesus Christ, you're an idiot,” he repeats. “But out of the two of us, I might actually be even worse.”

Confused, Jonghyun asks, “What do you mean?”

Kibum shows him his watch. “Nine minutes have already passed, but I'm still here listening to you.”

Kibum shifts closer to Jonghyun. “This is stupid,” he mutters, “I'm gambling, but instead of money, it's my damn heart that's at stake. But _god,_ I miss doing this”—he takes Jonghyun's uninjured hand in his—“and I know you do, too. Isn't this easier to do than to keep hurting? I just hope we won't let each other down this time.”

Jonghyun looks up at him, and back down at their linked hands. “Kibum—”

“Just so you know, you aren't forgiven,” interrupts Kibum coolly. He waits a bit until Jonghyun's eyes bug out, until his eyebrows rise into his hairline, until he adds, with a sense of satisfaction, “yet. You'll have to work for that.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Jonghyun wheezes, clutching at his chest. “You almost sent me to the ER again.”

“If you show up at my place of work again, I'm strangling you,” asserts Kibum. “Oh god, why're you crying—Jonghyun, I was _joking!_ ”

  


* * *

  


After their admittedly tearful reconciliation, Kibum and Jonghyun exchange numbers with the promise of keeping in touch. However, due to their packed schedules, two weeks pass before the two meet up again. 

Kibum knocks on the door to Jonghyun's apartment, feeling like a teenager on his first date. The door opens, revealing Jonghyun in a white shirt and sweatpants. “Kibum!” Jonghyun gives him a not-so-subtle once–over. “Come in, would you like some coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee's fine,” replies Kibum, feeling rather overdressed in his sukajan and blue jeans. “Ah, it smells good. What're you cooking?”

“Tteokbokki, bulgogi,” Jonghyun replies while fixing them both some coffee. “Some dakgangjeong. Rice. There's kimchi in the fridge.”

“That's a lot of food,” Kibum says while looking around Jonghyun's apartment. It's larger than his, though it looks less lived in. Nonetheless, for a place he's never been to, Kibum can recognize the Jonghyun-ness of it in the green walls and the brightly colored paintings on them. 

Jonghyun hands him a cup, saying, “It's alright. I know you like eating. And I know you like your coffee sweet enough to give anyone else a headache,” he adds. “So here you go. I put a ton of sugar and cream in that.”

Kibum, sitting down on one of Jonghyun's plush living room sofa, practically inhales the coffee. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“It's no big deal,” says Jonghyun bashfully. He sits next to Kibum, so close Kibum can feel his warmth. “I have to make it up for you, don't I?”

“You do,” Kibum agrees, but his voice is soft instead of malicious. “The tteokbokki better be fantastic, okay? I love that stuff.”

Jonghyun smiles. “I cooked it for you.”

“That's—um, well—” stutters Kibum, his usual wit evading him in this situation. “Thank you,” he repeats, in the absence of having anything else to say.

“You're welcome,” Jonghyun says cheerily. “I'll have to go back to cooking, alright? Just make yourself at home.”

A half-hour passes before the food is ready. Jonghyun is a surprisingly competent cook (later he reveals that he was forced to become one because no one else wanted to cook in the SM dorms back in his time there). They tuck in greedily, Kibum predictably attacking the tteokbokki first. Jonghyun eats at a more sedate pace, going for the bulgogi and rice. 

Dinner, against all odds, is a fun affair. The time they've spent apart just gives them more things to talk about. Much to Kibum's disbelief, they spend quite some time regaling each other with stories from their dissimilar lives without so much of a hitch. Kibum shares his ER experiences—the better ones that won't kill their appetites, anyway—and in return, Jonghyun tells him about the idol life.

There's a sore spot in Kibum's heart still—ten years of resentment don't just evaporate into thin air—but Jonghyun, with his brown eyes and incandescent smile, so happy it's contagious, seems to be trying his best to heal it.

They relocate to the sofa after dinner, leaving their dishes unwashed in the sink (“I'll do them later,” promises Jonghyun). Kibum asks, leaning into Jonghyun's space, “We're not gonna do something as cliche as watch a movie, right?”

“We're not if you don't want to,” says Jonghyun, laughing. “You're just as prickly as before.”

“Mm, and you're just as warm,” Kibum sighs, head on Jonghyun's shoulder. He feels younger than he has in years. “Let's just enjoy this, okay? I've missed this.”

For a good three minutes, all that can be heard is the sound of their breathing. When Jonghyun next talks, it barely breaks the silence. “I was so lonely without you,” he confesses in a voice so quiet Kibum has to strain his ears for it. “I lived and traveled and did so many things with all these people but I didn't know them like I knew you. And they didn't know me like you did.”

“I missed you too,” replies Kibum, sounding just as delicate. “You should've twisted your ankle sooner,” he adds with a huff of a laugh. He tilts his face up towards Jonghyun. “Kiss me?”

Jonghyun does. It's a sweet, soft kiss that leaves Kibum wanting for more. When their lips part, Jonghyun says, “So, am I forgiven yet?”

Kibum smiles. “Let's try that a few more times, hm? Just to make sure.”


End file.
